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“I don’t recognise him as an actor, either. What’s he been in?”
“Mostly theatre work,” replied Gardener. “But I get the feeling he’s living off his dad’s reputation, and I can’t find reference to anything he’s been in. He reckons he was in Phantom in the West End before Michael Crawford.”
“I thought Crawford was the first,” replied Malcolm.
“So did I.”
“And you suspect he’s lying? Do you think he’s the killer?”
“Well if he is, it’ll take some proving,” replied Gardener. “We have very little evidence against him.”
Malcolm snapped his fingers loudly. “That film that was banned by the watch committee. I know why I can’t remember much about it, I wasn’t there.”
“Why?” asked Gardener, suddenly feeling awkward, as if he should know the answer himself.
“I was in hospital, don’t you remember? I was landscaping for Leonard White at the time, the property in Horsforth, Corndell’s huge place. I landscaped the grounds for him when the drains gave way and collapsed. I fell in and broke both my legs.”
Gardener did remember. His application for the police force had been accepted, but his start date was delayed so as he could help his father to recuperate. “Can you remember why the ground gave way?”
“From what I heard, the house had a series of tunnels running underneath it.”
“Anything confirmed about the tunnels, why they were there?” asked Briggs.
“I’ve no idea,” said Malcolm. “Harry Fletcher came to see me in hospital. He had his book with him and he told me about a film they’d had to ban. Apparently, it was the most horrific thing they had ever seen.”
“Can you remember anything else about it?” asked Briggs.
“No. It was such a long time ago. But I’m sure the records will be kept somewhere.”
“Even from thirty years ago?” asked Briggs.
“It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.”
“Makes sense,” said Gardener, “if the director had his film banned. But surely it wouldn’t have caused that much trouble. Wouldn’t he have simply edited it?”
“I don’t think he did,” said Malcolm. “There was more to it than that. I’m sure Harry said there was bad blood.”
“Maybe we’re on to something, Stewart,” said Briggs. “See if you can trace the records, and while we’re at it, let’s tighten up our search for Fletcher. If he still has the diary, that may be one reason why we can’t find him. It might hold the biggest clue we have.”
“Let me trace the records,” offered Malcolm. “I’d have a better idea where to look than you. Besides, my name may still carry a little bit of weight.”
“If you’re sure?” asked Gardener.
“I’d like to do it. Who knows, it may help to catch the lunatic before he does any more damage.” Malcolm rose from the table and left the kitchen in search of a notebook and pen.
“Are you okay with that, sir?”
“If we could spare someone to shadow him, it might serve two purposes.”
“Protect him, and at the same time, lead us to the killer.”
“Works on TV, doesn’t it?”
Gardener laughed.
Malcolm returned to the kitchen. “There’s someone outside waiting to see you.”
“Me?” said Gardener. “Who is it?”
